


Magi

by Corisanna



Series: Hallucinogenic Gentleman [8]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Awkward First Times, Awkward Sexual Situations, Banter, Bickering, Body Horror, Canon-Typical Violence, Dorks in Love, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Gore, Hurt/Comfort, I blame kurgaya, Mutual Masturbation, Nudity, Porn With Plot, Romantic Comedy, Shower Sex, Stripping, Temporary Character Death, What Have I Done, all the feels, sexual healing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-17
Updated: 2015-01-17
Packaged: 2018-03-07 22:40:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3185885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corisanna/pseuds/Corisanna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A brush with death reveals just how much Ichigo and Tōshirō love each other.  The aftermath leaves them feeling closer than ever-- and willing to cross a few more lines than they ever have before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> While you don't necessarily need to know anything about the others in the series, this story takes place in kurgaya's Hallucinogenic Gentleman AU in which Ichigo and Tōshirō have always been girls/women. THIS IS ALL HER FAULT.

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Tōshirō had sensed the initial attack a moment too late to save the lives of the two recruits who had taken point on what had begun as a run-of-the-mill scouting mission she used to assess her new squad members. Three powerful Arrancar smart enough to lay a decent ambush were certainly not the quarry the basic Hollow-hunting team had been looking for. The extreme danger of their situation was immediately obvious. Tōshirō had quickly drawn her blade and dispatched an attacker who was still overextended from his slash, then ordered her fifth seat to retreat with the recruits. Ichigo, who had tagged along out of boredom when she sensed her girlfriend nearby, drew Zangetsu and stood at Tōshirō's back. They had leapt into battle together, moments rushing by in an adrenaline-soaked blur as they took to the stormy skies. The details of how both found themselves pushed to using bankai would fade into obscurity in both their minds, overtaken by the horrible clarity of what happened after that point.

Tōshirō had taken a queenly perch high in the churning clouds as was her wont, frustrated by the slippery quickness of her opponent. She searched for an opening, some pattern that would whisper to her of a weakness, keenly assessing her prey like the prowling dragon she was inside. Ichigo chased her own opponent in a running battle, darting into and out of skirmishes, a swift and relentless wildfire. She had just jumped back from another encounter when she stumbled at the sense of Tōshirō's reiatsu suddenly disappearing.

Ichigo would never forget the image she saw when she whirled to look at the last place she had seen her partner. The captain was far away enough for her features to be indistinct, but there was no mistaking the crisp white haori with its deep green inner folds fluttering, white hair streaming and glittering shards of ice trailing behind her limbs as she fell among the crumbling ruins of her magnificent wings. It took a moment for Ichigo to register that the woman she loved was falling in two pieces, bisected from shoulder to groin, wings skewed at unnatural angles as she tumbled from the sky.

Tōshirō's reiatsu had disappeared and she was falling in two pieces like a broken doll carelessly tossed aside by a bored child.

Tōshirō was dead.

It took Ichigo another moment to realize she was screaming.

Raging despair flooded her being. Ichigo's scream of anguish deepened into a berserk howl as her Hollow raged with her and surged forward, their mask crawling across Ichigo's face uncalled as Ichigo stopped caring about control. For once she was in perfect harmony with the Hollow: Swift, brutal violence seemed exquisitely appropriate.

Tōshirō's killer, a woman whose mask remnant was a large viper's skull worn as a crown with its spine trailing behind her in a macabre imitation of a ribbon, had three seconds to gloat and look down on her fallen opponent when instinct screamed at her to dodge a whistling blade before it could snatch her head from her shoulders. The Arrancar escaped with a graze and sustained minor wounds as she dodged subsequent strikes. She froze upon making eye contact with molten gold irises within bottomless pools of blackest rage in a demonic mask, predator turned prey in the face of vengeance. Her instincts saved her once more as the demon-masked woman charged at her, wreathed in black flames and seeming to scream endlessly without drawing breath. The panicked bala she shot in the oncoming hellbeast's face was little more than a slap to the avenger, but it allowed the Arrancar a chance to leap away yet again. To no avail; the Arrancar felt a moment of dread before she was obliterated by the most quickly-charged cero she had ever seen.

The entire encounter happened over the course of perhaps four seconds.

Ichigo's roar of despairing victory was abruptly cut short as her abandoned opponent fired his own cero at her unguarded back, tearing a gaping hole in her torso.

She choked on a sobbing laugh as she, too, began to fall. _How appropriate_ , she thought. The always-bizarre sensation of the Hollow initiating regeneration washed over her. Lost in grief, she ordered it, _Don't bother._ The Hollow ignored her, intent on keeping her alive for its own purposes. Ichigo had a fleeting, wild thought of _I thought I was the Queen in this relationship_ and wondered if the collision with the rapidly approaching ground would kill her before the Hollow could do anything about it.

The male Arrancar's triumphant laugh ended in a wet gurgle as a cold blade thrust down through the back of his head and out his throat.

Ichigo thought she heard a voice shriek her name, but the wind roaring in her ears drowned it out. Then her ears popped from her sudden change in altitude and everything was muffled even further, her perception rapidly shifting toward the surreal. Her eyes drifted shut. Suddenly, icy fingers slid up her sides toward her armpits; an arctic chill washed over her as cold arms wrapped around her and held her close. She almost felt like she was floating. When she opened her eyes and looked down-- no, up-- it was to the blurry sight of Tōshirō's face; Tōshirō's beautiful face, a bleeding slice running across one cheek, long streamers of hair that had fallen out of her bun whipping behind her. Ichigo's delirious attention was drawn to the unmarred glory of the ice wings at Tōshirō's back as she looked at Ichigo with anguished desperation. Ichigo relaxed as Tōshirō's wings folded around them and altered their path into a curve that bled off their speed. Her vaguely wandering mind thought Tōshirō's face lit only by her own pale blue reiatsu and the light that shimmered through the ice wings was particularly lovely. Tōshirō's mouth was moving, but all Ichigo could hear beyond the ringing of her ears was the muffled roar of wind.

Ichigo blacked out. She woke at a jarring motion, opening her eyes and seeing that she was cradled in Tōshirō's arms as her girlfriend skidded across the rough ground on her knees, taking the majority of the impact as the last of their momentum ran out. Next thing she knew, she was flat on her back and staring up at Tōshirō, who was kneeling over her and staring at her torso in horror. Ichigo blacked out again.

Tōshirō, for her part, was so distressed by the yawning void in her girlfriend that her mind short-circuited and refused to work. She _knew_ she knew how to stabilize a grievous wound until she could rush the injured party to Unohana's expert oversight of Twelfth Division's organ regeneration, but her mind drew a blank. She wondered whether Ichigo would survive the trip through the senkaimon, anyway. ( _Ichigo couldn't be dead already, no, not dead, certainly not not not._ ) Her hands fluttered over the wound uselessly, afraid to do more damage. Processing the fact that she could see mud and grass where she should be looking at a solid chest-- _God, shouldn't there be a heart and lungs there? Or was that part of a lung on the left? And what was that thing sticking out?_ \-- was exceedingly difficult. She distantly noted that she was hyperventilating when strange movement caught her eye from among the partially cauterized gore.

Tōshirō watched in morbid fascination as vertebrae budded from the top of the wound one after another, something flowing and filling the spaces between them as they linked with Ichigo's lumbar vertebrae on the other side of the hole. Dumbstruck, she hysterically thought _Oh, spinal cord_ , as the jagged ends of Ichigo's ribs blossomed, arched toward her center, and neatly forged a new sternum. Tōshirō held back nausea as pale pink flesh flooded into Ichigo's rebuilt rib cage, ropes and threads of tissue weaving throughout as something else formed out of Tōshirō's sight and _pulsed_. Her gaze was finally torn from the gruesome regeneration when Ichigo opened her mouth and gasped wetly, arching painfully as her new heart and lungs began to work. Gratefully deciding that her girlfriend's Hollow had the healing under control, Tōshirō shuddered, sobbed in relief, and focused on Ichigo's face, trying to ignore the awful squelching sounds coming from her girlfriend's torso as things shifted around.

While Tōshirō had grown used to Ichigo's usual mask, she had never seen its more advanced stage with its sharply twisted horns and bold red stripes streaking down her angular cheeks. The blood that ran down her jaws and throat from where it bubbled out of her mouth beneath the mask lent the illusion of sanguine tears. Glowing gold irises rolled around in pools of black and sought out Tōshirō's face.

“Tōshirō?”

It was a strange, warbling wheeze, but at that moment it was music in Tōshirō's ears. She frantically scrubbed tears from her eyes and tried to get herself under control.“Yes, yes, it's me.”

“Yer dead,” slurred Ichigo.

Tōshirō cupped the cheeks of Ichigo's mask, then trailed one hand up to stroke orange hair. “I'm here.”

“Oh. 'M _I_ dead?” Ichigo's eerie voice was confused.

Tōshirō's breath hitched. She bit back the words _I think you were, for a bit_. That three-minute span would have endless life in her nightmares. She could only bring herself to whisper a wobbly “N-no.” Speaking of nightmares, she was pretty sure that her mind would invent all sorts of images to go with that slurping sound no matter how careful she was to avoid looking for its source.

Ichigo's quiet objection was tiny and distraught, more coherent but barely more than a whimper. “You died.” She tried to lift a hand to Tōshirō's face, but the muscles that would support the movement had yet to reform. Her hand spasmed in the mud.

Tōshirō shook her head wildly. “ _No_ , no, I didn't. I told you about-- I _told_ you-- You idiot, I _told_ you about Zanhyō Ningyō, I _told_ you--” She hiccuped and choked back tears. “I t- _told_ you, I did, I _know_ , I told you, I-- I--” One hand clenched in Ichigo's hair as the thumb of the other rubbed circles into the cheek of the mask. For once, Tōshirō was the one to blubber incoherently.

It took a minute for Ichigo's hazy mind to place the words _Zanhyō Ningyō_. She finally thought of the decoy technique her girlfriend had told her about. “Oh.” Meekly, she ventured, “It wasn't you?”

“ _No._ Idiot. You _idiot_. And even if I-- _Why_ would you--? I'm not worth-- Idiot. You idiot. So stupid. Idiot. _Idiot_.” She was too distraught to care that she was sobbing.

Ichigo managed to flop one hand up toward her head and grope around until she found Tōshirō's fist in her hair. She squeezed as best she could, the wretched guilt on her girlfriend's face breaking her heart all over again.

They stayed like that for a minute, Tōshirō breathing raggedly and clinging to her girlfriend's hand as Ichigo's body continued to regenerate. Both only vaguely noticed the opening of a senkaimon nearby. Tōshirō absently identified the approaching shinigami as her own officers as they split up, surveyed the area, and converged on their captain.

Rangiku landed next to her kneeling superior. “Captain, what happ-- _oh my God!_ ”

Tōshirō blinked up at her lieutenant with puffy eyes, then followed Rangiku's horrified gaze down to Ichigo's body. Skin had begun seeping across her bare muscles from collarbone to navel as though some invisible sculptor was covering her in clay. Still in a state of shock, Tōshirō blandly observed, “Oh. She's almost done.” It sounded like she was talking about a cake that was nearly done baking.

Rangiku recoiled and stared at her captain as though she had lost her mind. Took note of the grim set of her jaw, the trembling of her lip, her desperate grip on Ichigo's hand; combined that with the last of Ichigo's regeneration and the sheer expanse of bare skin where the substitute shinigami's shihakusho just _didn't exist anymore_ , and came to the correct conclusion.

“Oh, Captain,” Rangiku began, voice thick with sympathy.

It was enough to bring Tōshirō back to her senses. Rangiku watched as her captain hastily tucked her distress beneath a thin façade of ice, face smoothing as she tried to reassert some manner of professionalism in front of her subordinates. Sat upright and straightened her uniform. Opened her mouth to speak, failed, sniffed and swallowed hard, cleared her throat. She raised her chin imperiously, daring her subordinates to say something about her lapse in composure. She nodded approvingly at her fifth seat. “Thank you for your prompt retrieval of reinforcements, Nakahara.” She turned to address the group in general. “The threat has been neutralized. Follow the standard cleanup protocol. Enomoto and Kimura's bodies are...” she glanced around. “About a mile north-east of here.” Tōshirō caught sight of Ichigo carefully sitting up in her peripheral vision. “Dismissed.” She was too distracted to notice that the team looked awkwardly glad to leave.

Tōshirō and Rangiku turned to look worriedly at Ichigo, who was propping herself up with one hand and gently palming her mask in the other. Her mask disintegrated as she pulled it away from her face. She blinked up at the Tenth Division officers, still disoriented. Blood that hadn't had a chance to congeal dribbled down her chin. Tōshirō's shoulders shook when they made eye contact.

“I think the others are out of viewing range, Captain,” Rangiku murmured.

Tōshirō promptly launched herself at Ichigo, who threw her arms around the petite woman just as eagerly. Neither spoke for long minutes, simply clinging to one another, each desperate to confirm that the other was still alive. Rangiku discreetly stared at the clouds and twirled a strand of hair around one finger.

At length, Tōshirō whispered, “How are you doing?”

Ichigo nuzzled the top of Tōshirō's head. “'M fine,” she rasped. She coughed. “Fine. I'm fine.”

Tōshirō's fingers tightened their grip against Ichigo's back. _Don't think about how her back wasn't there five minutes ago, don't think about vertebrae popping up like mushrooms and nerves and veins squirming through them like worms, don't think about it, don't think about it, don'ttthinkaboutit--_ She kept her voice steady through sheer force of will. “Blood loss?”

Ichigo shook her head, face resolutely planted in her girlfriend's hair. “Regenerated.”

Tōshirō's voice was strained bordering on hysterical when she replied, “Oh. That's useful.”

Ichigo barked out a startled laugh. “Yeah. Useful. Yeah.”

Both jumped when Rangiku spoke. “Sorry to interrupt, but why don't you go back to the barracks and clean up if you're both okay? I can handle things from here.”

They reluctantly separated. Tōshirō stood and brushed worst of the muddy sod off her wrecked hakama while Ichigo shifted her legs and prepared to stand.

“Aren't you forgetting something, Ichigoooo?” Matsumoto sang.

Both women favored her with looks of disgruntled confusion at her sudden cheer. Rangiku smiled coyly and twirled a lock around her finger with deliberate slowness.

“What are you talking about?” Ichigo hedged.

Rangiku's smile turned into a smug smirk. “Oh, I just thought you might want to cover up the girls. Unless you want to give the guards a show, of course.”

Ichigo and Tōshirō both blinked at her as the words sank in. Their eyes hesitantly turned to Ichigo's chest. Ichigo's _bare_ chest. Ichigo's bare _breasts_.

“ _Oh my God!_ ” Ichigo squealed. She slapped her hands over her breasts in a belated attempt to preserve her modesty as Tōshirō flushed and averted her eyes automatically. Any doubt about the state of Ichigo's blood volume and the integrity of her lungs were nixed when she turned scarlet and bellowed, “ _You couldn't have said something sooner?!_ ”

Rangiku laughed merrily as Tōshirō hurriedly shrugged off her haori and held it out to her girlfriend, face aflame. Ichigo snatched it, faltered, and put it on backwards like some bizarre hospital gown. She crossed her arms under her bust for good measure as she stood up. Her sleeves slid down her shoulders and bunched up at her elbows.

“I hate you, Ran,” Ichigo grumbled.

“Of course you do.” Rangiku's reply was far too amused for Ichigo's taste.

Any rejoinder was cut off by Tōshirō abruptly opening a senkaimon, grabbing Ichigo's arm, and hauling her through the door.

Ichigo blinked and allowed herself to be dragged through the eerie connecting dimension, hurrying along in Tōshirō's wake. She clutched the haori closer as they emerged from the portal in Soul Society, expecting to have to endure a report with guards. Instead, Tōshirō immediately leapt into shunpo, still dragging a thoroughly unprepared Ichigo behind her. She landed in front of the Tenth Division's main gate and barged through without acknowledging the startled guards. She charged through the grounds at a brisk pace, ignoring everyone they passed.

Ichigo, confused and dismayed, ventured, “Uh, Tōshirō? What are you--? Uh, where--?”

Tōshirō's only response was to tighten her grip on her girlfriend's wrist and scowl harder as she increased her pace to a near run. Ichigo gave up resisting and tried to keep up. In the next twenty seconds Ichigo became certain that Tōshirō was _pissed_. Her suspicions were confirmed when Tōshirō threw open the door to her private quarters and hurled Ichigo inside before slamming the door behind them with an almighty _crack_. Ichigo stumbled, recovered, and turned around in time to catch Tōshirō as the petite captain threw herself at her and clamped her arms around the redhead's middle, face buried in her chest. Bewildered, Ichigo settled her arms around Tōshirō's shaking shoulders. She patted the slight back awkwardly. Tōshirō's grip tightened even more. Ichigo wheezed.

“Um, uh, Sh-shiro--? I can't-- I can't breeeathe--”

Ichigo drew in a sharp breath as Tōshirō leapt back from her and looked mortified. “I'm so sorry! I--” Tōshirō's face morphed to one of rage. “Can't breathe? _Can't breathe?!_ You mean like when you had a _goddamn hole_ where your lungs should be?!” It was highly unusual for Tōshirō to lose her temper to such a degree, but anger was much safer to express than the crippling terror that lingered in her mind. If she fought it, maybe she would stop seeing that bloody, muddy sod surrounded by the macabre frame of her girlfriend's shattered, charred ribcage.

Ichigo blinked. “Uhhh, that's not--”

It did nothing to slow Tōshirō's momentum. “You moron! Don't you ever do that to me again!”

“I thought you were dead!” Aaand the Shiba tendency to argue damn near any point at high volume reared its head.

“And _you_ really _were_ dead!”

“Only for a minute! And I'm better now!”

Livid and wild-eyed, Tōshirō grabbed a nearby book and threw it. Ichigo dodged. “You shouldn't have been dead in the first place!” Tōshirō threw another book. Ichigo ducked, shielding her head with her arms. “How could you be so _stupid?!_ Leaving your back open like that!” Tōshirō threw another book. Completely missed. Something breakable audibly shattered. “You should know better!” She slung another book, this one aimed directly at Ichigo's face, screaming, “What did you _think_ would happen?!”

Ichigo slapped the book out of the air, furious. “I didn't care!”

Tōshirō's voice raised to a shriek as she threw her arms wide, a sarcastic gesture of entreaty. “ _Why the hell not?!_ ”

“ _I didn't want to live without you!_ ” roared Ichigo.

Tōshirō drew up short and stared at her girlfriend, eyes wide in surprise. Ichigo panted hard, fists clenched at her sides, anguish plain on her face.

Tōshirō was the first to break. Her arms dropped limply and her breath hitched as she struggled to contain an ugly sob. Face crumpling into heartbreak, she lifted her hands again and reached for Ichigo, fingers repeatedly grasping at air, unable to take a step forward. Ichigo took it for the invitation it was and staggered into Tōshirō's embrace once more. Arms entwined, they slowly fell to their knees together and held one another as they cried out the overwhelming fear-grief-relief-love of the last half hour. They randomly kissed each other's faces, necks, hair, hands, anything in reach, just to assure themselves their partner was still there. Time slipped by with a gradual shifting of shadows as they slowly calmed down. When they reached a point at which they could content themselves with sitting in a tangle and sniffling, Tōshirō finally responded.

“I'm not w-worth that,” she hiccuped.

Ichigo drew back, took Tōshirō by the shoulders and forced her to sit upright, then slid one hand up her neck and directed her girlfriend's eyes to meet her own with a gentle grip on her chin. “You're worth _everything_ ,” rasped Ichigo.

Tōshirō blinked watery eyes at Ichigo. Swallowed hard when her lip trembled; steeled herself and stared hard into her girlfriend's eyes. “I-if you d-died,” she whispered. Stopped, wet her dry lips as she used one hand to physically keep Ichigo's mouth shut. Louder, she asked, “If you died, would you want me to die, too? Or, uh.” She fidgeted. “O-or kill myself?”

Ichigo recoiled as if struck and shook her head so vehemently her whole upper body swayed. “No! No, never!” Tears choked her voice, made it guttural. “I couldn't-- I couldn't _stand_ it if you d-died-- if you d-died just because of m- _me_.”

Tōshirō's incredulously exasperated face spoke volumes.

“Oh. _Oh._ ” Cowed, Ichigo hunched in on herself. She looked up at her girlfriend through wet lashes, contrite. “I g-get it. I'm s- _sor_ -ry,” she croaked.

Small hands cradled Ichigo's face. “Okay,” whispered Tōshirō. She affectionately ran a thumb over Ichigo's cheek in the same motion she had used on the mask. “You're okay. And I'm okay. We're okay.”

Voice tremulous, Ichigo echoed her. “W-we're okay.”

Tōshirō's voice stayed quiet, but her gaze turned sharp. “And you won't do anything that stupid ever again.”

Ichigo let out a soggy laugh, part amused and part dismayed. She knew herself too well on that point. “I'll try.”

Closing her eyes and huffing in fond exasperation, Tōshirō sighed, “I suppose that's all I can realistically ask of you.” She pursed her lips tightly and fisted her hand in messy orange locks. Voice on edge, she added, “I would like to avoid any further tours of your internal organs, though.”

Ichigo snorted. “Can't promise anything with our line of work, but I'll try.” She sniffed and rubbed her eyes, taking Tōshirō's free hand in her own and squeezing. “And can you give a girl some warning next time you decide to play dead?”

Tōshirō flinched. “I'm sorry,” she squeaked quietly. She cleared her throat and added, “Duly noted.”

They fell silent and leaned into one another again, holding hands. Eventually, Ichigo sniffed and pulled away to wipe dried blood and other things from her nostrils so she could breathe properly.

Tōshirō sat back and watched. “You're a mess.”

Ichigo looked down at herself. She really was filthy. Dried blood was caked around her mouth and down her throat. Her hair was sculpted into bizarre angles with drying mud, some plastered to her neck. The cleanest parts of her were the tear tracks on her cheeks and her rebuilt chest, concealed under Tōshirō's muddy, bloody haori. She blinked and grabbed the bloody segment of haori and found a slice. Alarmed, she whipped her head up to her girlfriend. “You're hurt?!”

Tōshirō blinked and looked down at herself. She fingered a new opening in the side of her kosode and winced. “Not badly. It's pretty shallow.”

Ichigo frowned at the petite captain as she curiously poked the wound. She was muddy from the waist down, hakama in rags, and Ichigo was pretty sure that was her own blood saturating her girlfriend's front. Ichigo snorted. “You're a mess, too.”

Tōshirō rose and blinked innocently at her girlfriend. Her usually neat bun was skewed to one side, quite a few locks loose and wildly tangled. One hank of hair chose that moment to slip the bun and tumble down her temple. “I suppose I am.”

There was a moment of silence as they stared at one another before they burst into ridiculous laughter. If either noticed it had a hysterical edge to it, neither acknowledged it.

Tōshirō stood and reached for Ichigo. “Come on, let's get cleaned up.”

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	2. Chapter 2

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Ichigo took the offered hand and refused to let go of it as she followed Tōshirō into her bathroom. It was uncommonly modern for a Seireitei building, but the captain had once explained that she remodeled it to her own liking after the old one was destroyed when a very drunk Matsumoto and company had gotten it into their heads to play some kind of kido tag in the courtyard and demolished the outer wall and anything near it. Tōshirō's youthful openness to change and tendency to choose the most efficient method for pretty much everything had led to a utilitarian but appealing set of modern fixtures, an excellent shower replacing the usual stools for scrubbing, old furo replaced by a newer one that was easier to maintain.

Tōshirō led Ichigo to the shower and opened its door. She dropped Ichigo's hand and tiredly fumbled with the knot of her hakama-himo. Ichigo's eyebrows shot up. Tōshirō glanced at her sideways, paused as her cheeks pinked, then continued untying the knot deliberately. A moment later, Tōshirō was bending over and peeling the muddy pants off her legs, dropping them on the tile with a _plop_ as her kosode fell free and draped around her like a bathrobe. Ichigo gaped, understanding the innuendo as an invitation to shower together.

They had never done anything of the sort. They had taken turns in Tōshirō's bathroom. They had been in the same locker room, but had modestly avoided looking at one another too closely. They had even gone to an onsen with other female officers, but they had been discreet and shy. Neither had seen the other fully naked yet, not even as their relationship grew ever more serious. They had tentatively explored one another's bodies with their clothes on while making out, had recently progressed to occasionally cuddling and sleeping in the same bed wearing their yukatas or old shirts as a last barrier of modesty between them, but had yet to cross that last border into physical intimacy.

After a moment of thought, Ichigo figured such obstacles had been rendered exceedingly minor if not completely obsolete after what they had just been through. ( _Yes, she had wanted to see what Tōshirō kept under that uniform for a long time now, but right now she had the added desire to really convince her brain that her girlfriend was truly whole. Also, she didn't want to let her out of her sight lest the petite woman should disappear or break into two pieces behind her back. Whether or not that was rational was irrelevant._ ) Ichigo struggled to get the backwards haori off without tangling it in her sleeves, ended up shredding the last of her kosode, started to throw the haori on the floor, paused, and stepped away to carefully set it on the counter. Her hands shook as she fumbled the knot at her own waist, trying to ignore the full-body blush that came with the knowledge that her front was exposed. She, too, had to pry the sticky, partially-dried hakama from her thighs. It soon joined Tōshirō's on the floor.

Ichigo straightened and fought the urge to cover herself, arms wavering awkwardly as she furtively glanced at her girlfriend. Tōshirō was holding her kosode mostly closed, nervously fingering the hem while she peeked at Ichigo past her lashes, face demurely lowered. When they made eye contact, Tōshirō flushed, bit her lip, lifted her chin, and squared her shoulders. She looked almost haughty as she shrugged the kosode off behind her and let it fall to her feet, revealing simple but modern undergarments. Determined to continue and equalize their positions before her courage failed her, Tōshirō immediately raised her arms over her head and pulled off the sport bra, letting it join the mess on the floor behind her. Uncertain how to proceed, she let her hands fall behind her neck and lowered her arms slowly, watching Ichigo's face as her cheeks burned.

They stood across from one another in their panties for several moments, assessing one another with brief, curious glances. Ichigo, ever the daredevil, was the first to abruptly shimmy out of her panties and sling them across the room with a kick of her foot. Immediately questioning her decision, she tensed and looked at Tōshirō. Her girlfriend was chewing her lip, teal eyes heavy-lidded as she fought to not stare at the space between Ichigo's spread thighs. Tōshirō glanced up guiltily, swallowed, closed her eyes, hooked both thumbs in the waistband of her panties, and started to tug them down. Slowly, shyly. When they were at her knees she let them fall to her ankles on their own. She shifted, an innocently nervous wiggle of the hips as she stifled a wobble in her knees before she stepped out of the white cotton and carefully pushed it aside with one graceful movement of her toes. Tōshirō pressed her thighs together and forced herself to stop trembling, then anxiously glanced up at her girlfriend's face for her reaction. She didn't think it possible for her face to burn any more hotly, but it did so when she saw Ichigo's eyes skim along her curves appreciatively, repeatedly drawn back to the meeting of her thighs. Both women startled when they accidentally made eye contact.

Ichigo barked out a nervous laugh and blurted, “So! Shower! Right! We're taking a shower. Because we need to get clean! With water! And soap!” She descended into less intelligible babble as her face slowly froze in horror. A terribly strained little laugh fell out of her mouth.

Tōshirō blinked, then closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. She knew the ginger well enough to interpret the actions as _So yeah nakedness is really awkward and hey I'm going to try to distract myself from it and play it cool but whoops what am I saying oh god I sound stupid WHY AM I STILL TALKING OH GOD I'M RUINING THE MOMENT._

Tōshirō sighed and ran her hand through her hair. It got stuck in a tangle. She snarled up at it and huffed, “Yes, we're taking a shower.”

Ichigo canted to one side, a hand on one hip as she looked thoughtfully at the rat's nest on Tōshirō's head. “You have a big comb? Let me get the worst of it out before you get it wet or it'll be worse.”

Tōshirō sighed in defeat and wandered over to a counter to fetch a comb from a drawer. Ichigo tried her best to avoid staring at her girlfriend's honestly quite attractive rear. It was difficult, what with her shifting around while digging through a drawer, completely nake-- Wait.

“Uh, you're still wearing your waraji,” Ichigo blurted.

Tōshirō looked over her shoulder then down. Wrinkled her nose in disgust at the sodden mess that had been her tabi. “So I am. And so are you.”

Merry laughter spilled from Ichigo's lips as she bent to remove her footwear. “I think we're doing this totally backwards.” She chose to interpret Tōshirō's snort as amused agreement.

Tōshirō snapped a drawer closed and turned around with a sharp movement. She held the comb up and used that arm to balance as she stood first on one foot, then the other, peeling off the offending shoes and socks and flinging them away. She fiddled with the comb and looked over it coyly. “Practice will make perfect, I suppose.” She blushed and looked surprised by her own boldness.

Ichigo grinned widely, utterly enchanted. The faint coil of desire in her belly strengthened as vague guesses of what “practice” would entail danced through her head. Tōshirō tutted and tossed the comb at her girlfriend, whose grin only widened when she caught it absently and watched Tōshirō try to walk over casually, the degree to which she was flustered plain on her face.

Ichigo looked forward to the day that walking around naked in in each other's presence was as natural as breathing.

( _Please let this relationship get to that point, pleeeeeeeease, that would be amazing, is anyone up there listening--?_ )

After some awkward jostling and negotiation-- Tōshirō insisted on shoving Ichigo into the shower for an initial rinse before she could add mud and blood to her tangles-- they knelt at the edge of the shower, Ichigo carefully de-tangling Tōshirō's hair with skilled movements. They sat silently, each mentally convincing herself that _sitting naked on the bathroom floor and messing with hair was a totally normal thing to do, really, your heart shouldn't be beating this fast over something so banal_. It wasn't particularly effective for either of them. Ichigo ended up combing the white locks longer than necessary, nervous about moving onto the next step. She couldn't see, but Tōshirō's fists were curled in her lap and fidgeting with the same nervousness.

Tōshirō abruptly stood, brushed her hands over her thighs in a movement that would have smoothed clothes had she been wearing any, raised her chin imperiously, and tossed a brusque “Let's get on with this” over her shoulder as she turned to face her girlfriend.

Ichigo gaped, arm still raised as if to comb hair. “Get? Um, get on--?”

Matter-of-fact, Tōshirō nodded firmly and said, “Yes. Let's take a shower.”

“Right. Right. With water.”

“With water.”

“Right. And soap.”

“And soap.”

“Right.”

Tōshirō raised a brow when Ichigo just stared blankly up at her. She put her fist on one hip and tilted her head to the side. “Do you not want to now?”

“No.” Tōshirō's face fell in the moment it took Ichigo to send the comb flying as she waved her hands in a panic and started squawking a mile a minute. “No, no ignore that, oh my God, no, that's not what I meant, I mean, I meant _no, that's not why I'm_ , wait, uh, I mean, yes I want to take a shower with you, yes yes _ohmyGodyes_ I'm so sorry I was distracted I'm so sorry--”

Tōshirō let her girlfriend babble on for a minute and took the chance to bury her face in her hands and wonder what it said about her that she loved the blubbering fool so very much.

The petite woman finally sighed, dropped her hands and looked down skeptically. “Distracted? Really? What else is going on?”

Red-faced, Ichigo looked her up and down with wide eyes and blurted, “You.”

“What?”

“You. You're-- you're here. Naked. Here and naked. In front of me. I mean, uh-- _right here_.” She looked straight ahead.

Tōshirō noticed for the first time that her crotch was at Ichigo's eye level. Oh. She stifled the wild urge to giggle. Yeah, she guessed that could be pretty distracting. “That's-- that's-- Sh-shut up and get in the damn shower.” Face ablaze, Tōshirō marched into the shower and grimaced at the far wall. _Oh God, what am I even doing--?_

Ichigo scrambled to her feet and joined her. They stood askew from one another for a minute, the warm spray soaking them as they warily eyed each other. Tōshirō crossed her arms beneath her breasts. Ichigo awkwardly knit her hands together near her waist and fidgeted. They stared silently.

Ichigo blurted, “Soap!” at the same time Tōshirō grumped, “Oh, for heaven's sake.”

Ichigo snickered while Tōshirō face-palmed and sighed. The captain snagged her scrub and soap from their caddy and stopped, sizing them up.

After a moment, Ichigo prompted, “Well?”

Tōshirō shuffled. “I, uh, only have one scrub.”

Ichigo blinked. “What happened to the spare?”

A dark scowl marred Tōshirō's face. “Matsumoto _borrowed_ it on Monday.” She glared at the scrub as if it could remotely transfer the sense of her ire to Matsumoto an entire dimension away.

“...Do I want to know?”

“Most assuredly _not_.”

Ichigo scratched a temple. “I guess we have to share, then.”

Tōshirō glanced up then looked at the scrub doubtfully. “I'm not sure how sanitary this is.”

A scoff and roll of eyes from a woman who had half-raised two younger sisters forever in _oh no I forgot can I please borrow-- thanks_ territory. “I'm sure you'll survive.” Both winced, the aftermath of the battle still too new. “I mean, you can buy a new one tomorrow if it bothers you.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure.” Tōshirō hurried to get past the reminder.

The frustrating business of scrubbing all manner of stubbornly filthy things out of their pores distracted them for quite awhile. They took turns washing their hair and using the scrub in several shifts.

Tōshirō had methodically started at the top and worked her way down. She carefully skirted around the wound in her side but pain on her legs caught her off guard, causing her to hiss and jerk the scrub away, the end of its stick nailing Ichigo in the knee. Ichigo bit off a curse and dragged it out into a whine, then glanced down and saw Tōshirō hunched over, hands gingerly prodding her knees and shins.

“What's wrong?”

Tōshirō slogged her hair out of her face and grumbled. “Dunno.”

Ichigo frowned and went into what she and her sisters called Clinic Mode. She crouched in front of her girlfriend, trying to see the legs beneath the suds and stubborn mud. Tōshirō tried to shove her away, but Ichigo emerged the victor of their brief slap fight. “Stand up and lean back. Lemme see in the light.”

Tōshirō huffed and complied. “I didn't really notice any pain til I started scrubbing them. I knelt on them fine. I thought they were just really muddy.” She frowned up at the ceiling and continued in an undertone, “Damn, there's going to be mud all over everything out there, isn't there? Ugh.”

Ichigo shifted, allowing the shower spray to rinse Tōshirō's legs. “Uh, yeah, wow. You didn't feel this?”

Tōshirō peered down. She was covered in bruises and abrasions from knees to toes. “No. I have a pretty high tolerance for pain, though.”

“Don't we all?” muttered Ichigo. She leaned this way and that, shielding the wounds from the water and noting fresh blood and serum welling up. “Ah, I think it's because you tore off all the scabs with the scrub.”

“Joy,” drawled Tōshirō.

“How the hell did you get.. what is this, road rash? How did you get road rash?”

Tōshirō shrugged. “I couldn't slow us down quickly enough for a soft landing, so I twisted us and made do. It was my legs or your skull. I didn't think it would be a problem with my ice. I guess the ice broke up on impact or I let go of bankai too soon. It's a bit blurry now.” She looked at Ichigo's face and decided it was too wibbly, so she glanced away and nonchalantly added, “I didn't even feel it. Adrenaline, I guess. I'll be fine.”

Ichigo swallowed a lump in her throat and looked up at her girlfriend. “I'm sorry,” she croaked.

Tōshirō shifted unhappily, then smiled ever so slightly and thickly said, “You're worth it.”

The water made it impossible to tell if either or both were crying.

Ichigo remained kneeling and used her fingertips to gently slough the last of the dirt from Tōshirō's legs, careful to touch the open wounds as little as possible. Tōshirō pursed her lips and cooperated, shifting a foot here, flexing an ankle there. Ichigo's shoulders hunched when she reached the toes and discovered that three were completely missing nails, the denuded nail beds raw and oozing serum. She hovered her fingers over the injured feet, then slid her hands up Tōshirō's calves, drifting feather-light touches to the undamaged skin near the worst injuries. Every one was filed away in her memory. She slid her fingers behind Tōshirō's torn-up knees and rubbed her thumbs against the upper outside edges of the kneecaps a few times, massaging an apology into worn skin and strained muscle. Ichigo didn't even really think about her actions as she leaned forward and pressed gentle kisses to the unblemished skin just above Tōshirō's knees. It just seemed the right thing to do.

Once she started, she couldn't stop. Ichigo slowly worked her way up Tōshirō's thighs, massaging one leg and kissing the other, alternating every couple inches. She nuzzled the slight dip that marked the transition from left leg to body and followed its path up to the curve of Tōshirō's hip. She lavished slow, open-mouthed kisses at its widest point, then buried her face in the slope of her girlfriend's waist. Ichigo pressed her right hand against the small of the captain's back, slid her left hand around and up Tōshirō's right hip, then down to cup her buttock. She paused to simply breathe in the fresh scent of soap and gently rub her girlfriend's curves as the shower spray rained down on them.

Ichigo startled at a light touch on the back of her neck. For a moment, she was terrified she had gone too far, crossed some line that she shouldn't have. The hand at her nape hesitated, then slowly trailed up into her hair and began massaging tiny circles into her scalp with careful fingertips. Ichigo purred and leaned into the touch. They stayed that way for a couple minutes, content. Then Ichigo moved again, sliding her lips to Tōshirō's front, daring to dart her tongue into Tōshirō's navel as her right hand mirrored her left so she could massage both buttocks at the same time. Tōshirō jolted and uttered a sound of pleased surprise. Ichigo grinned into the skin of the captain's belly and repeated the motion several times, teasingly slow. A second small hand wove its way into Ichigo's hair, nails lightly digging into the scalp every time Ichigo pressed her tongue into Tōshirō's navel. Tōshirō rolled her hips slightly, first pressing her rear into Ichigo's hands, then pressing her abdomen into Ichigo's face. Ichigo craned her head back and settled her chin on her girlfriend's pelvis to look up the length of her torso. Tōshirō had dipped her chin so it nearly rested on her chest as she looked down at Ichigo through heavy-lidded eyes, lips parted as she took deep breaths. Ichigo thought the sight was made ten times sexier by the soaked white hair plastered to her shoulders and chest, messy curls framing bare breasts, Tōshirō's arousal obvious in her peaked nipples, all accentuated by rivulets of water trickling down her body.

_Okay, ten times isn't enough. Maybe a hundred. No, a thousand. Definitely_ , Ichigo thought. Her own desire burned brighter within her.

Gleeful, Ichigo turned her face to wander about her girlfriend's abdomen with soft kisses, savoring the way Tōshirō's breath wavered into slight unevenness as her knees wobbled. She pressed her tongue into Tōshirō's navel one more time, withdrew, and slowly kissed her way down as she drew her hands back toward her. Ichigo had just given a teasing squeeze to those lovely hips when Tōshirō slipped and fell with a squeal.

The split-second scramble of limbs ended with Ichigo's arms wrapped tightly around Tōshirō's middle, pinning the captain against the shower wall with a kind of tackle, one leg thrown behind her to brace a foot against the opposite wall while she rested on the other knee. Tōshirō found her arms had wrapped around Ichigo's head and pinned it to her chest. Ichigo became highly aware that her face was planted between her girlfriend's breasts. Both women froze, panting and clinging to one another in shock.

“Ummm... So, what was that?” Ichigo ventured.

Tōshirō's reply was an unintelligent “Uh.”

Ichigo shifted her grip. “Uh, did I-- did I do something wrong?” She paused in dread. “Oh, God, I did something wrong, didn't I?”

“No, it was--”

“I'm so s--!” Ichigo's apology was cut off by a startled sound when Tōshirō grabbed one of her ears and pinched.

“Shut up.”

“Okay,” Ichigo peeped.

They were still for a few seconds. Tōshirō sighed. “I think my legs don't want to stand up anymore. We should get out.”

“Oh. Yeah, the water's gone cold, anyway.” Ichigo's disappointment was obvious.

Tōshirō huffed and flicked a finger against Ichigo's temple. She huskily amended, “I said get out and not be standing. Not get out and stop.”

Ichigo perked back up. “O-oh! Okay!” She scrambled about, trying to figure out how to disentangle themselves without both falling.

Tōshirō sighed a fond “Idiot” as she took a tentative step out of the shower, avoiding the mud from earlier. She winced. Ichigo noticed her body tense and watched her girlfriend walk across the room to fetch towels with careful steps.

Ichigo frowned. “What do you think you're doing?”

Tōshirō turned around, arms full of towels, and arched one brow mockingly. “I should think it was obvious. We're not getting in my bed wet.”

Okay, that derailed her. “B-bed?” Aaaaand the full-body blush returned. Had that really been her in the shower? Oh God, what had gotten into her? _Oh yeah-- wet and sexy Tōshirō. Right._

Tōshirō shifted uncertainly. “I thought that was where... where our... um... _activities_... were headed. Was-- was I wrong?” Her entire demeanor screamed _kicked puppy_.

“No—Yes! Yes, wrong! Ahhhh!” Ichigo waved her hands frantically. “Yes, yes, I want to-- I want to-- To do-- Do _that_ \-- You know-- With you-- Yes, yes, I want to!”

Exasperation overwhelmed Tōshirō. “Then why are you being so weird about me getting towels?”

Ichigo frowned. “Because you're hurt. Let me--”

Tōshirō scowled. “I'm fine.”

“You're hobbling.”

“Am not.” She threw a pair of towels at Ichigo.

Ichigo wrapped her hair in one towel and tucked the other around her body. “Are so. Let me look at your legs. I can't do a whole lot but I do know basic healing kido.”

“No.”

“You're just doing this to be contrary. Be rational and let me fix you up.”

“I'm fine.”

Ichigo looked Tōshirō up and down. The white-haired beauty was wringing out her hair and wrapping it in a towel. A glance at her breasts coupled with the way she kept pressing her thighs together at intervals confirmed that she was still aroused. Ichigo steeled herself. “Fine. Then no s-sex.”

Tōshirō froze, then turned to stare at her girlfriend in shock. “You're not serious.”

Heat radiated from Ichigo's burning face. She forced an obstinate scowl. “Y-yes, I am.”

Tōshirō favored her with a skeptical frown, hands on her hips. Her nudity seemed to have slipped her mind in her annoyance. “Over some skinned knees? Really?”

Ichigo rolled her eyes dramatically. “Yeah, those are some skinned knees, all right. Shiro, you look like someone took a giant cheese grater to your legs.”

“They're not _that_ bad,” pouted Tōshirō. “I can deal with them later.”

“No.” Ichigo grasped about for a winning argument. She suddenly jabbed a finger at her girlfriend and demanded, “If my legs looked like that, would you make me get them fixed up before fooling around?”

Tōshirō grimaced, the conflict between lying and capitulating playing out on her face. She finally growled in frustration. “Fine. _Fine_. Play doctor.” She whirled and grabbed a large first aid kit. “God, why do I put up with this?”

Victorious, Ichigo cheekily crowed, “I think my tongue has something to do with it this time.”

Tōshirō glowered at her. It only made Ichigo's grin widen.

After some grumbling and cajoling, they ended up sitting on towels on the bathroom floor, Tōshirō's legs extended toward Ichigo. Ichigo cleaned and healed the slices on Tōshirō's face and side before moving to her legs. Armed with her childhood spent helping in the family clinic, she professionally swabbed the injuries with antiseptic and used tweezers to pluck out the occasional stubborn piece of gravel. Rather than watch her, Tōshirō leaned back on her hands and stared at the ceiling. It was better than watching her girlfriend's fetchingly intense expression as she tended to her legs. Less sexually frustrating, anyway. Thus distracted, she was caught completely by surprise by the feeling of lips that accompanied the initiation of healing kido on her toes. She gasped and looked down.

The first aid supplies were all set aside. Ichigo was cradling Tōshirō's right foot in one hand, carefully dabbing at wounds with healing kido with the other hand before brushing her lips against the repaired skin. Tōshirō watched as gentle, glowing fingers smoothed away a particularly large gouge where the top of the foot met her leg. Ichigo bent down.

“What are you doing?”

Ichigo glanced up the length of her girlfriend's leg and looked her in the eye. “You said to play doctor.” She smirked and lowered her face. “So I'm kissing you all better.” Devious brown eyes sparkled and maintained direct eye contact as she used her mouth to lavish attention on the newly healed skin.

“Th-that's not what I-- ah! M-meant.” Tōshirō squirmed, ticklish and so _very_ turned on. “B-besides, I think you're doing more licking than k--! Kissing.”

Ichigo turned her head to one side, still looking up, and lazily said, “Kissing, licking, sucking-- same difference.” She promptly dipped down and sucked on Tōshirō's inner ankle as she massaged it with glowing hands, soothing the strained tendons beneath the skin. Tōshirō struggled to contain a whimper at how wonderful it felt. Ichigo pulled back and grinned slyly. “Mind if I take my time healing you up before we, ah, relocate?”

Tōshirō shook her head quickly, red-faced. “N-no, go ahe--! Ahead.”

Ichigo's saucy smirk made Tōshirō bite her lip through a wave of arousal.

True to her word, Ichigo took her sweet time working her way up Tōshirō's legs. Every little healing caress was soon followed by Ichigo's marvelous mouth, soothing, teasing, promising so much more with every inch she traveled. Tōshirō had melted and lain back on the floor with her eyes screwed shut before she was even half done, breaths uneven as her girlfriend gradually stoked the flame of desire in her center.

“Hey.”

Tōshirō squinted down the length of her body. At some point she had pulled her knees up and pressed her thighs tightly together. Ichigo had draped herself over Tōshirō's healed legs, chin nestled between the knees as her hands wandered up and down Tōshirō's thighs.

“Now, that wasn't so bad, was it?” The ginger looked entirely too pleased with herself.

Tōshirō didn't deign to answer the question. “Am I-- am--” She drew a deep breath. “Am I healed enough for you, _Doctor Kurosaki?_ ”

Ichigo wasn't sure if that was innuendo or condescension-- or, well, both, knowing her girlfriend-- but it was damn sexy. She hummed to stall, then looked down at her girlfriend's legs. She trailed her fingers down one calf and back again. “I do believe so. Perhaps we can do some follow-up therapy to be sure, though.”

A delighted laugh burst from Tōshirō's lips without her permission. “Do I need to make an appointment?”

“Don't be silly. I live in an urgent care clinic. Drop by any time.”

“I might hold you to that.”

“I hope you do.”

They stayed serious for all of three seconds before they fell apart, Tōshirō covering her mouth and shaking with silent laughter while Ichigo snorted and giggled against Tōshirō's shins.

On impulse, Tōshirō snatched her legs out from under Ichigo and let her fall on the towel, then rolled so she was leaning on her larger girlfriend's abdomen, chin resting innocently on her folded hands as she looked past Ichigo's (quite distracting) breasts to make eye contact.

“Hello, what are you up to?” murmured Ichigo. Those teal eyes were bright with mischief and she damn well wanted to know why.

Tōshirō smiled sweetly. “I want to ask your expert opinion, Doctor Kurosaki.”

Ichigo grinned. “What about?”

The sweet smile turned sly. “I've been very tense lately. I don't know why.” She lazily drew patterns on Ichigo's ribs with one finger. “Do you think I would benefit from a full physical examination?”

Ichigo's laugh was bright and somewhat incredulous. “Well, it certainly shouldn't hurt.”

Tōshirō rose to her knees, whipped the towel off her hair and flung it away in smooth movement, and nonchalantly declared, “I'm available now, if you are so inclined.” She stood and breezed out of the bathroom, damp curls bouncing at her back.

Ichigo lay there and gaped at the door in disbelief.

And lay there.

And gaped.

And silently had a minor psychological crisis.

Ichigo had entertained fantasies of her first time with Tōshirō. Daydreams of a private dinner, of a sunset or a moonrise, candles, roses-- God, Tōshirō would be so beautiful laying on a bed covered in red rose petals, surrounded by candlelight-- every cliché ideal setup for celebrating the specialness of their first time had flitted through her mind at some point. The idea of their first time being preceded by the cleanup from nearly getting herself killed made her cringe. Tōshirō deserved something more special. It certainly hadn't been candles, rose petals, and romance.

The Hollow gleefully interrupted her thoughts. _**Well, we lit that snake-bitch up like a candle, splashed red all over your little princess, 'n got her naked 'n all hot 'n bothered. That counts, right?**_

Zangetsu's warm shadows shifted disapprovingly. _You're not helping_.

The Hollow's only reply was a cackle. Ichigo only vaguely noticed the sensation of a resigned Zangetsu pulling the Hollow farther into their Inner World as though tugging the leash of a particularly obnoxious dog. She was more focused on resuming her freakout and wondering if she should try to put off Tōshirō's invitation to her bed until she could do something appropriately romantic.

_Such hesitance is unlike you._ Zangetsu's voice toed the line between neutral and disappointed.

_Annnnnd I have an old guy in my head who can see all of this ahhhhhhh--_

Zangetsu stoically chose to ignore the comment. After a pause in which Ichigo ran out of things to worry about in any coherent way, he spoke again. _You have wished to become physically intimate with Tōshirō Hitsugaya for quite some time, correct?_

_Yeah_ , Ichigo sulked guiltily. Random coarse comments aside, she trusted Zangetsu to direct her to the questions she should most focus on answering. It was comfortingly similar to how her mother had helped her calm down and work through whatever problem had upset her as a child.

_And your overtures over the last hour have been welcomed, not rejected?_

_Yeah._

_Even though you made an error in judgment that frightened and angered her?_

_Uh, yeah._

_And you have been invited to continue in her bedchamber?_

_Well, yeah._

_Is she one to invite someone to her bed lightly?_

_N-no!_

_Then from whence comes your hesitation? Your fear? She has made her desire clear to you. You reciprocate her desire. Don't look back and regret how you came to be at this moment. Look forward and make of it what you will._

Ichigo blinked and turned that over in her head.  _Yeah. Yeah. You're right. Thanks._ She stood and traced Tōshirō's path.

Meanwhile, Tōshirō kneeled on her bed fretting over what Ichigo's delay meant. She could feel her girlfriend's fiery reiatsu flickering erratically. Nervously. And she didn't come.

And didn't come.

And didn't come.

Not really thinking about it, she drew her sheet up around her shoulders in a shielding gesture as she frowned at the mattress.  _Was I too bold? Am I rushing things? Did I scare her off? Did I just ruin everything?_

Hyōrinmaru wrapped Tōshirō in an embrace of glacial patience.  _Calm yourself. You sometimes forget both that she is younger than you and that she hasn't had an older woman to talk to her about intimacy as you have had Matsumoto and your grandmother. You surprised yourself several times in the last hour. She probably did, too. Give her a bit to gather herself. You have left her an open invitation. Should she decline it, I doubt it would mean anything more than her not being ready to be fully intimate yet. You saw her today. There is no doubt that she loves you. Be patient with her._

Patience. Right. She could do that. That was her thing. Even if she was frustratingly aroused. Patience. Because Ichigo was worth everything.

Movement registered in the corner of her eye. She turned to the doorway and found Ichigo shyly peeking around the corner. When the redhead noticed Tōshirō looking at her, she startled, then straightened and slipped into the room.

“Sorry I'm late,” Ichigo murmured as she padded over to the bed. She paused. “Um, do you still want to...?”

Tōshirō's lips quirked in relieved amusement. “I still want to. But only if you're sure.”

An affectionate smile slowly stretched across Ichigo's face. “Yeah. Yeah, I'm sure.”

Tōshirō's smile turned coy. “Well then. What are we waiting for?” She released the ends of the sheet and let it slip off her shoulders, then reached one hand out invitingly.

Ichigo clasped her girlfriend's hand and squeezed as she climbed onto the bed. They sat looking at one another for several moments, holding hands in the twilight. They simultaneously leaned in and kissed. Slowly and gently at first, but with increasing enthusiasm. Hands combed through each other's hair, whispered across earlobes, gripped shoulders, massaged necks, ever shifting. Breaking apart to catch their breath, they sat back and stared at one another.

Each bore the history of her battles engraved on her skin, an abstract artwork of scars of varying degrees scattered across her body. “It's gone,” Tōshirō murmured, trailing fingers across Ichigo's stomach. “Wait, here it is. Huh.” She had seen her girlfriend in a sports bra and sweats before and knew the scar Aizen had left Ichigo as a parting gift at their first meeting. Most of it was gone, replaced by unblemished skin, save for a portion over her right hip that hadn't been regenerated that afternoon. The way it abruptly stopped was strange. It would be a permanent reminder of Ichigo's near death.

Ichigo reached up and drew her fingers along a scar across Tōshirō's collarbone. The shape told a tale of a vicious stab that went deep and wide near her right shoulder, then tapered off in width and depth as it slid across her chest. Its flat and faded nature spoke of a very old wound. Ichigo could feel Tōshirō tense at the curiosity in her touch, but swallowed her questions. Now was not the time. Perhaps she would hear its story some other day. Instead, she redirected her hands down, skirted around the still faintly puffy scar Aizen had given her girlfriend when he revealed his true nature (how fitting that it should be near her heart), and palmed Tōshirō's breasts. Tōshirō mirrored her, sweeping her hands up Ichigo's abdomen and chest, noting the smooth skin where she had known scars to lie as she cupped her girlfriend's breasts.

Both had the modest busts of women who had been vigorously athletic from girlhood. Neither particularly minded-- Ichigo had once brazenly smart-mouthed to a teasing Matsumoto that she had just enough to play with and that was enough for her, thank you very much. Tōshirō had been mortified but had inwardly agreed. Though neither said anything, both fleetingly thought of that outburst and recognized a new appreciation for just how true it had been. Ichigo lightly kneaded Tōshirō's breasts as Tōshirō rubbed her thumbs in circles over Ichigo's areolae, watching with lustful fascination as the nipples stiffened. Ichigo leaned down and panted against Tōshirō's temple, then nuzzled her cheek before initiating a more heated kiss. Kissing while playing with each other's bare breasts was a new and quite enjoyable variation of their previous makeout sessions. Even though they moved slowly, it didn't take long for both to be thoroughly aroused and eager to escalate.

Tōshirō withdrew, panting, and pushed Ichigo back so she was leaning against the headboard with her legs splayed in front of her. The captain rose to her knees while her girlfriend squawked, shuffled closer, straddled one of Ichigo's thighs, and rocked experimentally. Realization struck Ichigo's face. She grinned and grabbed Tōshirō's hips, kneading and tugging in encouragement as her girlfriend settled more comfortably. Tōshirō returned to playing with Ichigo's breasts as she rocked against that wonderful thigh, her face darting about Ichigo's with breathy kisses through the heady rush of her pleasure. She was momentarily thrown when Ichigo slid one hand down her hip, past her buttock, and along her thigh to her knee and pulled strongly. Tōshirō paused, panting, her hips still wobbling of their own accord as she allowed Ichigo to move her leg. A brush of warm, tickling dampness against her knee made her laugh in understanding. She repositioned herself, one knee pressed into the heat between Ichigo's legs. A smug smirk tugged at her lips when her first tentative movement made Ichigo whine. She hummed herself when Ichigo's hands slid back up to fondle her rear.

Time passed them by as they moved in rhythm together, the pace of their movements steadily quickening. Eventually, Tōshirō devolved into ragged breaths and more forcefully abrupt movements. She gripped Ichigo's shoulders for leverage and buried her face in her girlfriend's chest, gasping with each roll of her hips.

Ichigo grinned and squeezed Tōshirō's bottom, helping the woman rub against her slick thigh even harder. “You're almost there, aren't you?” She smirked when Tōshirō's breath hitched and a whimper tumbled out of her mouth. “Come on, you're almost there,” Ichigo cooed. “Come on, come on, almost, almost.” She slid one hand up and splayed it out over Tōshirō's tailbone to help push her when she rocked; the other hand ghosted around Tōshirō's waist and up her torso to knead a breast. Tōshirō choked back a sound of desperate pleasure. Ichigo tutted then huskily teased, “Come on, no need to be quiet, come on, you're so close, let me hear you, come on, almost, almost.”

Tōshirō's thighs clamped hard on her lover's when she finally climaxed. She blindly reached up and tangled her hands in Ichigo's hair and tugged, muffling cries of pleasure against Ichigo's throat as she rode out the wave of delight. Left pleasantly boneless, she slowly relaxed against Ichigo as she caught her breath, head resting against the redhead's breastbone. She listened to the rapid beat of Ichigo's heart and drifted with the rise and fall of her lover's chest. After a couple minutes, Tōshirō pulled herself back to sit upright on her own. A wonderful thrill ran through her when she saw Ichigo staring at her in blatant awe. She unconsciously squeezed her lover's thigh between her own once more, wiggled her knee, settled in place. Ichigo whimpered and tried to roll her hips while sitting.

“You poor thing,” Tōshirō breathed. She drew her hands down Ichigo's neck, over her shoulders, swept both out along her ribs and around to palm Ichigo's breasts from below. Kneaded both breasts as she wiggled her knee again. Grinned in fox-like satisfaction at the reaction she elicited. “I think it's your turn, now,” she whispered.

“Yes, please!” blurted Ichigo.

Tōshirō favored Ichigo with one of her rare, bright, light, lovely, irresistible laughs that made Ichigo wonder what manner of goddess she had stumbled into dating.

The petite woman gave Ichigo no warning before she wove her fingers into the hair behind her ears, pulled her face down, and darted in to engage her in a fierce kiss. They kissed and caressed aggressively, a playful battle that could have no loser. When Ichigo drew back for air, Tōshirō simply moved her attention to the woman's jawline. She kissed and sucked her way down Ichigo's neck, nuzzled and tongued the hollow at the base of her throat, pressed fluttery kisses down into her cleavage, then abruptly took as much of Ichigo's left breast into her mouth as she could, sucking and massaging with her tongue in turns while her left hand gently rolled Ichigo's right nipple between agile fingers.

Ichigo squealed in surprise, then gasped deeply and arched. “Oh God, Shiro, yeah, oh my God you are so amazing that feels so good oh my Gaaawwwwd--” she trailed off in a long whine, panting and grasping at Tōshirō's shoulders, hips struggling to find some form of friction. But Tōshirō had withdrawn her knee, leaving Ichigo frustrated. “I need-- Shiro, I _need_ \-- oh my God, where did your knee--? Oh, oh, _oh_ , oh God, you're driving me crazy, oh God--”

Tōshirō let Ichigo's breast slide out of her mouth and gave the nipple a quick kiss. “Do you want me to stop?” she asked innocently.

“Oh my God _nooooooooooo_ , keep going, keep-- oh my God-- just can y-you-- can you als-- als _ooo_ do something about-- about--?” Ichigo interrupted herself with a loud cry of pleasure as Tōshirō suddenly switched breasts, wrapping those lovely lips around her right breast and rubbing the slickness left on the first breast with her palm. Tōshirō focused on Ichigo's breasts until the taller woman was so thoroughly undone and desperate for climax that all she could utter were incoherent mewls.

Ichigo was so far gone that it took a moment to register that Tōshirō had pulled away. She opened her eyes and squinted around for her lover just as she felt small, strong hands grab her calves just below the knees and _pull_ until she had slid down onto her back. The ceiling was quite the confusing sight for her lust-addled mind, but she dismissed it as soon as Tōshirō's face appeared above hers. Wild white locks dangled around their faces like a curtain, shafts of pink and orange twilight filtering through and lighting them with a dusky glow.

“You-- you are-- soooooo-- so pretty,” panted Ichigo.

Tōshirō smiled almost shyly and leaned down to kiss her on the lips and quietly say, “Let me know if I do something you don't like, okay?”

Ichigo cooed in interest. “What are you going to do to me?” she asked eagerly.

Hot damn. From below, Ichigo could see that Tōshirō had a goddamn adorable dimple when she smiled playfully. Who knew? “You'll see.” She dipped down for a soft kiss on the lips, then withdrew. Hovering above her lover on all fours, Tōshirō took her time kissing and caressing her way down Ichigo's body. Returning her earlier favor, Tōshirō spent some time teasing Ichigo's navel with her tongue while she lightly stroked the redhead's waist. Tables turned, Ichigo buried her hands in long white tresses and massaged her encouragement into her lover's scalp. Tōshirō resumed her downward journey slowly, pausing as she encountered the dense orange curls between Ichigo's legs for the first time. Ichigo squeezed her shoulders reassuringly even as her breath hitched and her body tensed. Tōshirō lifted her head to look directly at Ichigo's face. Using her hand down there felt like an intensely personal contact-- closer than she had allowed Ichigo earlier, actually-- and she was hesitant to cross that boundary in their relationship too soon. If Ichigo was hesitant.... “Are-- are you okay with this?”

Red-faced and glassy-eyed, Ichigo nodded fervently. “I'm j-just, um. A bit nervous. No one's ever...” She trailed off with an embarrassed shrug, panting. Her face shifted to one of flustered determination as she whispered, “I trust you. I love you. I want you.” Slowly, she drew her knees up and opened her thighs wide.

Tōshirō held her gaze for a moment before looking down at her girlfriend's parted legs. She gently set a hand on the underside of each thigh and rubbed comforting circles with her thumbs, massaging until some of the ginger's tension had eased. Carefully, carefully, she inched closer to Ichigo's body. Her hands paused where legs met body, lightly dusting her fingertips along Ichigo's panty line. She paused again, only resuming her movements when Ichigo rolled her hips in encouragement. Tōshirō combed her fingers through Ichigo's curls and found the wetness she had inspired earlier. Curious fingers quested about her lover's most intimate area, stroking and exploring with light touches while Ichigo shifted restlessly and made small sounds of need.

After several minutes, Ichigo grunted in frustration and thrust her hips up. “D-do more, Shiro. I need-- I need--” She rolled her hips desperately.

“I-I'm trying. It's backwards.”

Ichigo drew up short. Incredulous, she demanded, “What do you mean it's backwards?!”

Tōshirō flushed and covered her face with one hand. Mortified, she mumbled, “I'm sorry. I mean, um, I haven't done this from this direction before. So it's backwards to me.”

Ichigo blinked blearily. “What other direction would you do it from?”

The twilight masked most of Tōshirō's burning blush. “Um. You know. _This_ direction.” She gestured vaguely down toward her own lap.

Ichigo followed the motion toward the damp triangle of white nestled between Tōshirō's legs. Thought. Thought some more. Thought of some very interesting images which she immediately filed away for further inspection on dark and lonely nights. “Ohhhhhhhhhhh. _That_ direction.”

Tōshirō couldn't meet her eyes, too embarrassed.

Well, that would get them nowhere fast. Ichigo bit her lip, propped herself up on her elbows, and tried to put on her best come-hither stare. Despite inner anxiety, she managed an excellently suggestive, smoky voice when she drawled, “Do you think of me when you touch yourself?”

Tōshirō jolted and stared at her, wide-eyed and startled.

Ichigo grinned, bit her lip more slowly and seductively as she raked her eyes over her lover with deliberate slowness, then looked her directly in the eye. “Because I think of you.”

It was unlike Tōshirō to gawk and sputter speechlessly while her face practically flamed, but Ichigo had managed to make her do so. It was quite the accomplishment.

Deciding to press her advantage, Ichigo rolled to her side and threw a cocky smirk over her shoulder at Tōshirō. “Why don't you come on up behind me and show me just how experienced you are from _that direction_?” she challenged.

Tōshirō's face was torn between an unimpressed frown at the tease and interest in the invitation. After a moment of skeptical consideration, her face shifted to sensual hauteur. Smirking deviously, she ordered her lover to get on her knees. Ichigo scrambled to comply, turning to face the wall on all fours. Tōshirō's sensual voice continued to give orders. “Keep kneeling, but sit upright.” She ran her hands up and down Ichigo's bare back. “Spread your knees apart.” Ichigo obeyed instantly, trembling with anticipation as her lover's hands stroked whirling patterns on her back, fondled her bottom, ran slender fingers just close enough to the soles of her feet to very slightly tickle. Strong hands kneaded her shoulders as Tōshirō rose onto her own knees and began pressing slow, lingering kisses to the nape of Ichigo's neck. She paused her ministrations for a moment to lean against Ichigo's back. Ichigo was hyper-aware of her lover's breasts and slow breaths against her back, her inability to see what her girlfriend was doing amplifying every sensation. It came as a delightful surprise when Tōshirō slid her hands around Ichigo's ribs to cup and play with her breasts again. Ichigo moaned and arched into the loving touch, still wound up from Tōshirō's earlier attention. Tōshirō's left hand stilled, but continued to hold Ichigo's left breast as she rested her forehead against her lover's back. Her right hand massaged its way down Ichigo's body. Once again, she paused at the border of Ichigo's pubic hair.

Quietly, Tōshirō asked, “You're sure?”

Ichigo rolled her hips impatiently, jostling Tōshirō's hand. “Oh, yeah. Definitely. Do it, do it, do it.”

Tōshirō threaded her fingers through the curls with deliberate slowness, seeking the warm slickness she knew to be concealed within. Ichigo gasped and jerked her hips forward when Tōshirō's fingers slid over her favorite little bundle of nerves. Tōshirō smirked into Ichigo's back and teased her with an extra little swirl around the nub of skin before her fingers continued their quest. Ichigo keened at the loss for a moment but was immediately distracted by Tōshirō's fingers separating to trace parallel paths along hidden folds. Tōshirō repeated the motion back and forth in a slow pattern while she resumed massaging Ichigo's breast. Ichigo's initial movements were uncoordinated but she soon fell into a complimentary rhythm, thrusting her hips forward and rolling them back with each pass of her lover's fingers. The petting gradually increased in pressure and pace until Ichigo's breath came in sharp puffs that matched every quick thrust. Occasionally, Tōshirō would suddenly break pattern to draw her fingers up and down the very center. Each time she did so, she was rewarded with a different sound of wordless approval-- moans, groans, whimpers, gasps. Tōshirō skilfully pushed Ichigo to the point that the balance between pleasure and lack of complete fulfillment had her drawn tight as a bowstring.

“P-please. Please! _Oh._ Almost--!”

Tōshirō hummed thoughtfully. “But we're having so much fun.”

Ichigo laughed. “T- _tease_. M-miiiinx. Ooooohmigod you're really good at th-- ah!”

Ichigo descended into senseless babble as Tōshirō finally went for the prize, rubbing that magical nub with the knuckle of her thumb while her other fingers quickly flexed and rubbed against every slippery surface available. Ichigo finally climaxed with a wordless yell of ecstasy. She thrust her hips in an increasingly erratic frenzy, trying to savor as much of the overwhelming pleasure as she could. Once the storm of delight had passed, the rolling of her hips slowed down into a jerky wobble as she gasped for air. Tōshirō only let her hand rest against her lover's thigh once Ichigo stopped pressing herself into it. A smile of victory curled Tōshirō's lips as Ichigo clumsily unfolded her legs, sat with them splayed apart in front of her, and flopped back against her lover. Ichigo reclined in a state of numb euphoria as she panted and relaxed at the feel of Tōshirō's left hand combing through her hair and drawing swirling patterns on her scalp while her right hand smoothed slippery circles on her right thigh. She stared dreamily at the last twilight and first shadows on the far wall.

At length, Ichigo summarized the entire experience with a wondrous, exhilarated, very simple “ _Wow_.”

Tōshirō, being Tōshirō, reacted with an unsurprised yet preening and fondly sarcastic snort. How she managed to express so much with a simple exhalation was a mystery to Ichigo.

The lovers ended up laying in bed, still nude, entwined about each other and occasionally kissing as they reveled in the cliché but quite lovely afterglow. Because this was Ichigo Kurosaki and Tōshirō Hitsugaya, they would wake up around midnight, starving and utterly dismayed at the muddy mess that had been tracked throughout the captain's quarters, comically squabble over who would clean and who would cook until they compromised, awkwardly banter over a meal, then go back to sleep. But for now they were content to simply lie together, cuddle, whisper their love to one another as the evening crickets set to chirping and moonbeams peeked through the windows.

x§x§x

Five days later, Ichigo plodded into her bedroom after a particularly annoying shift at Unagiya Shop, carelessly slung the door closed behind her, and immediately perked up when she glanced around the room and saw Tōshirō perched on her window sill in shinigami form. She hurried to the window, evening instantly improved. The two greeted each other with a brief kiss and mutual little smiles.

“What brings you around this neck of the woods? I thought you had some boring thing to do out in the Rukon.”

Tōshirō gave a light snort but looked quite pleased. “Hirako annoyed the old man in a meeting and the mission was coincidentally reassigned to his division.” She assumed a coolly professional expression and lightly said, “It seems the mission coming to Tenth was a clerical error.”

Ichigo grinned. “With all that paperwork you're bound to have a clerical error in there somewhere.”

“Exactly.”

A breeze blew in the window, prompting both to spend a moment looking out at the sky, midsummer evening sunlight in the buttery stage that came before the sun truly began to set. Out of the corner of her eye, Ichigo saw that Tōshirō was rolling something small and shiny in her hands.

“Whatcha got there?”

Tōshirō snapped back into focus and blushed. She looked down at her now tightly-closed hands. “Ah, I... made something for you.”

“Ooh, a present?” Ichigo cooed. “What's the occasion?”

Tōshirō looked at Ichigo, extremely serious and searching. She held up one hand. “Here.”

Ichigo stared. Stared at Tōshirō's hand. Stared at Tōshirō's face. Repeated the process for good measure. “Uhhhhhhhh. That's a ring.”

“Yes.”

“A shiny ring with a shiny clear stone.”

“Ice, but yes.”

Ichigo stared some more.

Tōshirō shifted and looked suspicious. “What?”

After a long minute of staring at Tōshirō with an undecipherably weird expression on her face, Ichigo went with bluntly asking, “Are you proposing to me?”

Tōshirō's mouth opened. Closed. Her face flushed. “N-no! I'm not-- You're completely misunderstanding!”

Seeing she had caught her girlfriend flat-footed, Ichigo cheekily said, “Wow, our relationship is moving along pretty fast all of a sudden.”

Tōshirō huffed indignantly, recognizing that Ichigo was teasing.

Actually relieved that the immediate prospect of marriage wasn't actually on the table yet ( _someday, though..._ ), Ichigo grinned. “What am I missing?”

Flustered as few could make her, Tōshirō pressed the ring into Ichigo's hand and ordered her to put it on. Ichigo complied, then scrutinized the jewelry on her finger. It was a thin silver band with an inset “stone.” Upon closer examination, it was actually a tiny piece of Tōshirō's ice shaped like Hyōrinmaru's four-pointed guard. She noted that Tōshirō must have been paying attention during a lunch period back when Tōshirō was assigned to her school-- the “stones” were only slightly raised above the band, just as she had once said she preferred.

Ichigo grinned up at her girlfriend. “It's beautiful. And it's enough of your ice to feel like you. I love it.”

Tōshirō blushed prettily and avoided addressing the compliment. “Good, it was enough of my reiatsu for you to feel.”

Ichigo raised one brow. “Oh? Is that the point?”

Tōshirō looked away, an undertone of guilt hiding in her otherwise blushing face. “Yes. The whole piece is made of reishi. Put it on next time you use your badge. My idea is that the ice is just enough for you to feel my reiatsu, but miniscule enough to be hidden by that volcano you call your reiatsu. So I should be able to use Zanhyō Ningyō and hide my reiatsu, but you'll be able to tell I'm not dead without giving me away. If the ice melts, well, you'll know...” She shrugged uncomfortably. “It's all I could think of.”

Ichigo's eyes glassed over with unshed tears, overcome with emotion. “It's brilliant. You're brilliant. Thank you.” She wrapped her arms around the diminutive shinigami. “And I'm still sorry I went off like that. And I love you.”

“We both were in error. We'll just have to be better from now on.” Tōshirō brought her arms up around Ichigo's back. Shyly, she whispered, “I love you, too.”

They simply stood together for awhile, lightly embracing as the buttery sunlight melted into orange.

x§x§x

x§x§x

x§x§x

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Con/crit welcome. Especially on my smut. I've never written any before. Hopefully it wasn't horrible.
> 
> Version 1: 1/17/15


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